Forgive Me Father
by CharmingFool
Summary: Arthur Kirkland finds himself at confession... And winds up telling a story that perhaps, not even God himself, will be able to forgive. AU, lots of character death, drugs... etc. -Hetalia-
1. Confession

**A/N: Kay, so this is totally short... But don't worry adoring friends, the chapters after it will be much longer~! *Cricket chirps* Uh... Review and such? Oh! And this stories gonna be pretty much revolving around yaoi, death... all that good stuff. So, don't like, don't read. Enjoy~!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia or Arthur Kirkland... *muffled noises coming from closet* ...I don't!**

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned."

"…Well, what is it, my child?"

I raked my trembling fingers through my shaggy blonde hair. Took shaky breaths. God, I was a mess. A sniveling, bleeding, mess. Oh and I just _reeked _of sin. Surely, Father could smell it? Got a whiff of my pact with Satan himself? Well… If he did, he showed no sign of his knowledge. I let out a strangled cry. Rested my head on the screen that separated me from the man so Holy, that surely… he could bless me. Cleanse me. Save me. Me. Who is me? I bet you'd like to know…

Arthur Kirkland, due at his wedding in a mere hour.

Arthur Kirkland, the suspect for the gruesome murder of his best friend.

Arthur Kirkland, twenty-three year old prostitute.

Arthur Kirkland, Satan's right hand man.

Arthur Kirkland, tweaker.

Arthur Kirkland, well… Need I say more?

I suppose once upon a time I would've gagged at these doings. Would've vomited up my pure soul, unable to digest such horrid things. I was a virgin, then. In more ways than one. I didn't know the wonderful feeling of a needle to my veins, shooting up dreams and promises that will no doubt be broken in the morning. I didn't know what "The Dragon" even was... Until I chased it. Oh, God... Satan has been good to me. He always has _something _that will take my pain away. I love him for that. And hate him. Hate myself, too. I'm quite the disgusting man nowadays... I think I'd even give my own brother a sexual favor, if it meant I'd get something into my system that helped me cope. Forget. I have to rememer right now, though. Can't escape. Can't.

I exhale. Try to get myself together so I can tell the tale of my descent to the pleasent place I know now only as Hell. Every day I lose a bit of myself. I'm just fragments of the proud Brit I once was. The man that would laugh if he were told he'd end up like this. Covered in bruises and little marks that proved he needed an out other than tea and scones. Would've laugh himself dry, if he was told he'd be out on the streets willingly. Not a care in the world for disease or pride. After all, he doesn't have much dignity left... And a disease would probably help him kick the bucket faster, as he very much wants to do. To die. Yes, that's what I want. However, I must confess first. Beg for forgiveness.

"T-The story… It's long." I managed to gasp out between my pathetic sobs. The man on the other side was silent for a moment. "…Alright. Tell me your tale, child." And so, with a strength I did not know I had, I sucked up whatever it was that was keeping me from speaking. Confessing. Its been a while since I've been in a church… Well, if you don't count wedding rehearsal. I licked my busted lips. Tasted the drying substance that was oh so like copper. A pill. A needle. God, even a pipe would do! Even if only for a second, it could take me to nirvana. Oh, and I'd be so happy… Happy at last. But no. I have a story to tell, and I'll tell it sober… I must. "O-Okay… Please bear with me, Father."

And so I began the tall tale from the very beginning, when I was a sensible man… A man that would never even contemplate the things I've done. I miss him.


	2. The Key

This all begins with a man by the name of Francis Bonnefoy. Actually know as, the _Frog_. I'd always hated him. Believe me, that's the truth. He was the fire to my ice. The sun to my moon. The needle to my vein. Ah, yes… He still plays quite the part in this thing I call a life. I had been waiting in the park for my beloved lady. I always told myself I'd marry her someday… She was such a sweet woman, with eyes the color of a cerulean sky. She was all I ever needed, besides a good book and a cup of tea.

You see, despite being extremely happy… I was a very poor Englishman. My savings were meager, and I'd cut ties with family quite some time ago. I believe right after high school in fact. My job was as a secretary, and I didn't make very much. Money is the doorway to evil, my mother always told me. Of course, she also always told me I was a mistake and deserved the bruises of my father's rage. So most things she said just slid off me like raindrops on glass. Oh, childhood… That's another story altogether. I'll tell it another time.

The gloom of night had set in and a wind with teeth as sharp as razors had left me trembling in gooseflesh. Oh, but she was not late. Believe me, this was the time we always met. She had a brother. A rather _violent _brother. If he knew I was courting with his dear older sister, oh… There are far worse things than death, Father. "Monsieur Kirkland..." I tensed at the voice. It was laced with the finest of accents and dipped in the sweetest of honeys. It made my stomach churn in disgust. It made bile rise in my ever burning throat.

I believe I was twenty on that fateful day.

"Mr. Bonnefoy..." I practically spat as I turned to face the man. He was dressed in one of his lovely suits. I found the cape rather ridiculous... But he was the rich big wig. Not me. So my opinion was probably like a single ripple in the vastness of blue that made up his eyes. He had the face of an angel... But... I was no fool. Anyone who was stupid enough to find him angelic would be used, abused, and strung along until he had the decency to spring them free. By then they were shells of what they once were. If money was the doorway to evil, then he must've been what lie on the other side. He must've been the devil himself, clad in only the most glamorous of things. He flipped his hair in a flamboyant manner then smiled his award winning smile.

"Do not be so sour, mon ami... I was just taking a walk. I 'ear that you are running quite late on payments... Need a loan?" His eyes sparkled in a menacing way. I fought to keep my urge to hurl back. "Not from you, _Frog_." I stated with disgust. Oh and yes, I'd soon be homeless if I didn't figure something out... But I wasn't going to take a loan from him. Not because I didn't think he was good for it, but because I hated him. "Oh you are so cruel to me..." He pouted like a child not getting his way. He then slipped his hand into his pocket. Slipped out a checkbook and waved it like a dog treat. I was not a dog. I wasn't about to jump.

"I said no." I said simply, crossing my arms and turning to wait for my beloved lady. I was a good man with good values. All his money was probably drenched in the blood and tears of my fellow men. I knew a bad idea when I saw it. I had a head with a brain. "...Mm... Think of this as a gift, mon ami." And with that seductive purr he slid a folded paper into my back pocket. Patted it more than necessary. I would've turned to rip it up in his heavenly face, but he was gone and out of sight before I could get a word in. The slip of my paper seemed to weigh more than I could bear.

It was then a voice as sweet as candy and as soft as the very clouds above sang to me. "Arthur!" And suddenly everything was alright. The money issues, the 'gift'. Even not being able to see her often. Yes, she made everything in life so much nicer. Kinder. "...You came." I breathed as she ran into my arms. Her cerulean eyes far more beautiful than Bonnefoy's could ever be. Her lips curved into a soft smile as she clung to me. And I held her, oh God, I held her. She was there and that's all that mattered.

"Katyusha..."

My heart set a flutter just saying her name. I was a man of simple pleasures then. Yes... She was truly wonderful. Who needed a roof when her eyes were the very sky? Who needed a home when her body was the temple of my every desire? Who needed to eat when her lips supplied me with the ever so sweet flavors of baked goods? I could've died happy right there... Holding my lady. "Ah I apologize for taking so long..." She whispered as she rested her face in the crook of my neck. Her breast pressed against my chest and the buttons of her shirt strained in protest. I could feel her soft breathing against my exposed flesh and already I felt my trousers to be uncomfortable. I contained myself, however. Sex was for the married or the damned, and we were neither.

"It's fine... I'm just happy to see you. What held you though, love?" I whispered, running my fingers lovingly through her short wispy locks of hair. "Oh Arthur..." She clung to me tighter. Swallowed back sobs. She would have to go soon, I assumed... We didn't have long. Still, I held her to me in silence. Enjoying the beauty of the night and the woman that stood against me. "...M-My brother was helping me pay for the bills and such... He does not understand why the money is draining so quickly. These trips to this part of England are milking my savings dry." She was having the same trouble as I... But unlike me, she had several siblings and a bakery to manage. My dear Katyusha was in over her head...

"Ah... I'll help as best I can." I said without hesitation, playing with a particular unruly strand of her hair. She chuckled a bit and nodded as best she could in our current position. "...Oh, thank you... I will not ask for much though." I shook my head at this, because I had to take care of her. I had to. "No... Let me take care of it, Katyusha." I brought her hand to my lips. Kissed each fingertip. Watched her flush at my actions. And, as I said before... At such times, I forgot my worries. Forgot my name was Arthur Kirkland. Forgot I was pinching pennies and eating week old scones.

She lit like the sun as she looked up at me. Blessed me with her sweet smile. "...Alright." And with that she puckered her lips in a comical manner. I laughed before supplying her with what she silently asked for. Our lips connected and the sparks of our love flew. A fire kindled in my gut and I drew her closer to me. A few of the buttons to her shirt finally gave, and I had to force my eyes shut as we kissed. Temptation is a disgusting thing, Father. Not that I care much these days. Anyhow, we eventually parted. Our breaths swirling and mixing with the chilled air of night.

"...I need quite a lot... I d-do not want to be a burden, Arthur." She whispered, her cheeks tainted pink and her pants that of a dog in heat. I gazed down at her, trying to compose myself. Oh, she could drive a man insane with such a look. I wanted to do things I had no right to even imagine. I cleared my throat, putting on a small smile. "Oh love... Just tell me the price. Anything for you." Those words sounded so out of place coming from my lips. I was English, not French. The words were of those from a man with a heavy wallet or a smooth tongue. When I was with her, I couldn't help this side of me... "Oh my love... I need three thousand..."

My heart nearly stopped then. I remember thinking something along the lines of, _Where in the bloody hell am I going to come into that kind of money?! Or any money for that matter! _Yes. I had been struck nearly speechless. "Yes... I can get that for you, love." I murmured as I pressed tender kisses on her forehead. Yes, laugh if you must... But with her looking up at me like that, how could I say no? And when she smiled... God... It was worth it. Every penny. Every dime. I'd sell my soul to see her smile like that. Actually, I have. I will. I did. Anyway, she smiled.

"...You are such a generous man. What did I do to deserve you?" I ran my thumb along her bottom lip as she spoke. Gazed at her with a passion I didn't know I even had. "You baked the most wonderful treat in England." I said simply, to which she just giggled. Yes... We met at her bakery. Love at first sight, they say. Star crossed lovers they say. Foolish children who can't tie their own shoes, they say. I couldn't help but wonder how Ivan had the audacity to tell her she didn't know what love was, when he was younger than her. I suppose he just worried for her safety... but... I found myself hating the man more and more.

"Come. Walk with me, Arthur." She released me from her embrace and I reluctantly did the same as she took my hand to lead me to where ever it was she wished to go. I'd walk through the very pits of hell with her. For her, in this case. "It is like a dream, being here with you..." She murmured softly as we walked aimlessly. We often did this. Whether it was through a park or on the shady streets of London. Whether we went out to eat or simply had dinner beneath the stars. I can remember how I felt to be holding her lovely hand. I felt... Happy.

It wasn't long before we found a nice tree to rest our backs against. To sit beneath. We talked of farms and swapped tales of our childhood. She was my best friend and my lover. My ever so sweet Katyusha. We read each other's palms and told jokes. Spoke of how unbearable time apart from each other was. Kissed. Ah... I wanted her in so many ways. And she wanted me. Allowed me to run my hands beneath her blouse and brush my fingertips over her bra. I allowed her to grasp at the bulge in my pants. And for a moment we lost ourselves in the experimental groping and kissing. Our pants and groans of pleasure the only thing disturbing the whitenoise of night.

I ran my hand up her skirt then placed my trembling fingers on her panties. They were soaked clear through... and it made me want... Well. As I said before, I had no right to imagine such thinks. Surely just thinking about it was a sin all on it's own. So we eventually parted, for this was always an over the clothes type deal. It would be better on our wedding night, I assured myself. And so we helped each other redress. Got the grass stains off her back side, for that would be a dead give away of what had gone on. Her brother was not a fool. It was ridiculous, fearing him... But there was nothing to be done about that.

"I'll call a cab for you." I said after clearing my throat. My cheeks were flushed in embaressment I believe. She only chuckled with a shake of her head, somewhat amused. "Thank you." Her accent thicker from her not being as in much control as she would be if we hadn't fooled around. I walked her to the sidewalk and held her hand as we discussed politics and crumpets. She was not a fan of my cooking, or any English cooking for that matter. I suppose her business would do better in America, since here we all have "tasteless buds". I would get upset with her, but she's far too convincing with those smooth lips of hers...

So we stood there for a while, until it was time for her to leave and head back to Carlisle, a city quite far from my humble abode. I had visited a few times, but I wasn't fond of it. I urged her to move every once in a while... But she merely shook her head and muttered something about her siblings. Well. It was still a part of England, and that was enough for me not to dislike it. I adored my country to death. Call me silly, but even now... I find myself singing the national anthem when I'm suffering from withdrawl.

I watched the cab drive off into the night, taking my sweet Katyusha with it. And my good mood as well. Reality had set back in and I was aware of the heavy weight in my back pocket. The bills. Her bills. What I was going to do for dinner and whether or not I should risk taking a taxi home, for the price was ridiculous. Yes... Reality set in and I felt myself grow sick with all of the responsibility sitting on my shoulders. I had to help her. Had to. She needed me to be there when she fell. I myself was already knee deep in the mud of debt... And what could a man such as I do? Watch his lady suffer as her savings dwindled? Go back to work and hope for the best?

I slid my hand into my pocket. Took out the neatly folded sheet of paper. Took a deep breath._ I'm better than this. I don't need this._ Oh, you have no idea how many times I repeated that in my head as I unfolded the little slip. My breath caught in my throat when I saw what it was I held. What it was Francis Bonnefoy gave me. And there were no strings... This was a... "Gift". Yes, a gift. I wanted to convince myself off that. I wanted to believe that using that stupid slip would be the answer to all my troubles. The key to the door of happiness.

There in my trembling hand... Was a blank check.

**A/N: Wah.. I just wanted to get this chapter over with! I know, I know... You have to have a good foundation for a story... But all I wanted was to get this over with so I could get working on chap 3... I'm not a fan of Ukraine really... Though I do find her amusing. I know the pairing is crackish, dears. And the bloody UK was farrrrr to lovey-dovey with her... But I gotta exaggerate... Makes the story more interesting later on! :D Forgive me for grammar mistakes... I will fix this later on in my endless free** **time. -Fool**


	3. A Minor Favor

A/N:** Okay so... It was brought to my attention that Inverness is NOT in England. Imagine that? I had like... the longest staring contest with the screen before facepalming. Google said Inverness was in the UK and I was like 'Oh, so that must be in England, yeah?' XD My mistake... I will move Katyusha to Carlisle. (I was almost tempted to say 'screw it! she lives in Scotland now' But then realized Scotland MAY not be connected to England... Oh God... I'm so ignorant x_x) Forgive me... I'm just a simple American with Google and Bing on my side. Mostly Google... Um, this chapter might be a little rushed. I apologize if it isn't all that great... *Clears throat* Please enjoy the newest addition to Forgive Me Father. Love you all. -Fool **

I know what you're waiting on. You're waiting on me to say I ripped it. Burned it. Fed it to the leeches on the street. Oh, and I wish I could tell you I did do that. I wish I could... I wish I could tell you I proudly rid myself of the check. I didn't. My fingers burned that entire walk to the bank. Yes, I cashed it. Please don't expect so much of me. I was a strong man, but I wasn't God himself. I couldn't allow my love to be out in the cold, sitting around a garbage can fire with her family. No. What kind of man would I be? How could I ever ask her to marry me if I couldn't do something as small as this? I only took what I needed from the Frog. Nothing more, nothing less. Three thousand, for Katyusha.

I was not some corrupt bloke trying to stuff his pockets to the brim in cash. Hell, I didn't even take anything for my own bills. It was all for her. And it seemed like God allowed this. For the weeks after that, I had actually convinced myself that God had not allowed it, but had created it. My gift. The only thing I'd ever ask for. To take care of Katyusha. I loved her more than I could ever love anyone. I was sure of that. Now I'm not even sure what my own name is half the time. So, as I was saying a few good weeks had went by and I was quite sure everything was alright. I had givent the money to my love long ago and everything was back to normal for me. Go to work, look for better jobs after work, eat, ignore the monster pile of bills in the corner of my room, and hope to hear from Katyusha.

So you can imagine my surprise when I opened my door ready to head off to work on a Tuesday morning to find none other than Francis Bonnefoy at my doorstep, fist posed as if he were about to knock. His blonde hair framed his face in a neat manner and his baby blue eyes lit with amusement to find me staring at him dumbstruck. "...Mr. Bonnefoy..." I mumbled as my eyes began to narrow in distrust. The man clicked his tongue at my tone then shook his head. "Ah, do not be so cold mon ami... I am not 'ere to cause you 'arm." I wrinkled my nose at his annoying accent. I wasn't a fan of the French, and the fact that he was the _Frog _just topped the horrendous cake. "May I come in? This will only take a moment."

Now, usually the answer would be a straight "no". The man was bad news. He reeked of malevolence, despite the sweet aroma of roses that burned my nostrils so insistently. But... I didn't know what he had up his sleeve. I wasn't aware of the game he wanted to play. Cards, checkers, chess... The rules were always different. "Alright. I must be going to work soon, so please make it quick." And with that, I stepped back to allow the man inside of my less than shabby apartment. I expected him to cringe at the "peasant-like" style of my home, however he surprised me with another knee buckling smile. It only increased my wariness.

"Merci. I assumed you would be much more... Difficult." Francis chuckled softly before walking inside and looking around. He then took the nearest seat: the couch. He looked out of place in my home with his spiffy suit and that _grace_ he had. Honestly, it was just so unnerving how beautiful a man could be. Oh, believe me when I say I hadn't miraculously fell for him. His beauty was of an external quality, and though I was sometimes struck with awe... I was never fooled. Never once. "Would you like something to drink?" I responded blandly as I closed the door. I did not sit, though I had the feeling this would take more than a "moment".

The blonde shook his head as he crossed his legs. "Non... I am fine. Now... Do you know why I am 'ere, Monsieur?" He questioned with the lift of a single eyebrow. I was pretty sure I knew what it was all about, but with a man as confusing and as intricate as Francis Bonnefoy... One could never be sure. "Is it because you're missing money?" I questioned as I furrowed my brow, a frown tugging my thin lips in a downward slope. And of course he laughed at me. I don't think I'd ever seen him angry. No, not even now... Never have I seen him bothered in the least. Yet another unnerving factor of his. "Oh do not be silly! That was a gift, yes? I am 'ere because I would like you to do me a favor..."

I blanched at that. My heart sped. I felt hot yet cold. A favor. For him. This had to be an invitation to trouble. The worst kind of trouble. "...If I may ask... What kind of favor would it be?" I nervously fidgeted with my tie and he chuckled in that same carefree manner, his eyes glittering with an emotion I couldn't quite place. "Oh nothing difficult, mon ami. My little brother needs to be picked up, but I do not 'ave time to do so myself... Could you do it for me? I would be forever grateful." He peered up at me beneath his long feminine lashes then batted them in a mock-pleading manner. I grimaced in response. Though it didn't sound that difficult, I knew better than to be relieved.

"Please, Monsieur Kirkland? It is just a small favor." He clasped his hands together and looked down at them, lips suddenly pursed in a tight line. It made him look as if he were pouting rather than scowling, but I somehow knew that was what he was going for. I also knew he had plenty of connections. He didn't _need _me to do it. He wanted me to. Why, I didn't know. I just knew he had some sick reasoning behind it all. The Frog always did. "...Alright. If it isn't too far..." He lit up and smiled grandly, flashing his overly white teeth. "Merci~! 'is name is Mathieu and I will be needing you to drive 'im to my 'ome. And to tell 'im that his dear brother misses 'im... 'e will most likely be at the "Comfy Inn"... Room 113. You know it, yes?"

I was half tempted to deny that I did. Of course, then he'd just give me the directions. I know I could've said no to him, but I wanted to repay the debt. Even if he assured me that check was a "gift" I knew very well Francis would forever have me under his thumb squirming until I coughed up _something _he wanted. So if I did this small insignificant task, I could be worry free. We would be even and I could breathe easy. I hadn't expected him to pop up, but when he had it came to my realization this might become a habit of his.

Thus, my trek to the motel began. I was going to be late to work if I didn't hurry, so I guided the man out in front of me then headed on my way to get this "Mathieu" person. Heaven knows how screwed up he was. I prepared myself for the worst. Francis was the devil, so his younger sibling must've been something of a demon. Probably even worse actually. I knew how younger brothers could be. I had one myself. So. I drove in my beat up old Bentely to retrieve the boy and take him to the desired destination. I was wary and ready to get the simple favor over with.

The motel was on the "bad" side of town. Where men sold their souls and flesh met flesh in revolting back alleys. I could feelthe sin coming in waves. I felt tainted just by association. Gritting my teeth I tried to get a hold of myself. Get the boy and go. That wasn't a hard task. I parked my car in the small little section for parking in front, and was immediately approached by a woman barely dressed with smeared make up. My skin crawled. "Looking for a good time, sweet cheeks?" She reeked of sweat and there was still a bit of dried semen on her chin and clumps of it in her tousled hair. I vaguely wondered how many diseases she was carrying.

"No thank you." I said as politely as a man in my position could before walking around the tempest and toward the cluster of motels. The room number was 113. I made sure to remember that fact. Getting lost wouldn't have done me very much good in such an area. "Room 113..." I murmured as I came to a stop in front of a certain room. The rest of the tale will be forever imprinted in my brain. After I knocked... Yes. I can remember it like it happened just yesterday. There was the sound of the doorknob turning and the door creaking open.

It was rather pitch black inside the room, and all I saw was the gleam of eyes. Like the Frog's, they were vast blue oceans. Unlike the Frog's, however, there was a murderous intent. I suppose I should've just left right then and there, seeing such clear hatred. "...Matthew?" I questioned, furrowing my brow. Somehow I hadn't thought he would be so tall. Taller than Francis, even. The male said nothing in reply. His eyes only darkened at the sound of the name. It was then my collar was grasped and I was jerked into the room. The door shut softly behind me.

"Where the _fuck _is he?!" The male snarled out, venom clear in his voice. Oddly enough, it was not a French accent I heard... But an American one? Yes. He was clearly American. I stood frozen in place, my thoughts tangling as fear and adrenaline shot up my veins. "Where is Matthew?!" Clearly this was not the man I was supposed to be picking up... I slapped his hand away from my shirt collar and took a few cowardly steps back. My hands grasped behind me for anything. Anything at all. They found a light switch.

In the light I saw that the male was quite young. No older than seventeen, actually. His face was... rugged. Marred with old bruises and jagged scars. He looked rather weary as well. Still, he had the same beauty a man should never possess. His dirty blonde hair was smoothed back in a cowlick, and I would've found it rather silly if this meeting were under different circumstances. In his left hand, he held something that made my breath catch in my throat. And not in awe. "What? Franny sent one of his fuckin' bitches without a weapon?" He hissed out, raising it up. His finger ghosted over the trigger. My heart rammed against my chest in a desperate attempt to break free and leave my immobile body behind. "...I... I'm guessing you're not... His brother?" The American seemed to be infuriated by such a statement, and I found myself shoved against a wall, cold metal pressing into my right temple. I began to tremble.

"Franny didn't tell you who I am?" I felt the need to respond, but I knew I should just keep my mouth shut. It was clear to me that anything I said would only provoke the... boy... more. Yes. A boy. That's all he was. I knew not to underestimate him for such a thing though. He looked quite... "street hardened", if that's the correct term. I had a horrible hunch he'd probably used that gun more than once. "Ha! What a laugh... He sent his new hussy without telling him anything?" He leaned close, his eyes furious and feral. Somehow, he still managed to be attractive while looking so menacing. The sweet contradicting smell of apple trees flooded my senses as he exhaled. The only person who had ever been so close to me was my beloved Katyusa. I swallowed.

I cleared my throat and wrangled up some courage. Narrowing my forest green eyes in defiance, I spoke. "...I am just an acquaintance. Francis sent me to pick up Matthew... His brother. To tell him that his dear brother misses him..." At this, the teen began to laugh. It was bitter and sharp. "Matthew... Sweet Mattie... He's _my _"dear" brother." The weapon dug into my skin as he put more force to it. I felt my head began to throb. Francis hadn't wanted to do the task himself. I supposed that was why he had asked me to do that favor. "...You're... B-But that doesn't make any bloody sense..." I stammered out, my defiance turning into confusion. To this, the boy merely frowned.

"You're useless. Franny probably sent ya 'cause he knows I don't like to hit women." He sneered as he backed off. "Take me to him." The boy stated as he grabbed a worn out brown jacket hanging off the back of a chair. I stared at him incredulously. Surely, after that, he couldn't expect me to be driving him somewhere. Was he mad? At that point in time I was nearly positive he was. "Listen. Either you drive me or I kick your ass hero style and steal your car keys. Your call old man." He stated with a scowl, his eyes daring me to defy his wishes. And as prideful as I was, I wasn't stupid. Driving a loon was better than getting maimed by one. "...F-Fine..." His blue eyes lit up, and for a sheer second, I thought I saw a boy beneath the riddles of fights and violence. The scars. A boy that smelled of apples. Just for a second.

"Move it." He ordered, his scowl back as he slipped on his jacket. Where the gun had gone, I didn't know. I hadn't wanted to know either. I turned around and opened the door, exiting. The boy stayed on my heels all the way to the car. And of course he refused to put on a seatbelt like a childish git, not that I tried to get him to do so. He was the one with the gun. "...You never told me your name." I stated, gripping the steering wheel tightly. The boy blinked a few times. He then shrugged and looked out the window. "And you didn't tell me yours, old man." My left eye twitched at his response, but I was aware he had a point.

Sharing my name with a hooligan was bound to get me into trouble someday. Still, I offered it. "Arthur. Arthur Kirkland." The teen hummed in thought. He then glanced at me out the corner of his eye, responding with a bored: "...That's a lame name, dude." I groaned in frustration, but still, I found myself waiting. Just what did Francis want with the kid? He was violent, relatively unstable by the looks of it, and... Well. As I said, a kid. "My name's Alfred. Alfred F. Jones." The boy finally told me after at least five minutes of silence. "The F. is for heroic effect." He murmured with half-hearted pride, turning his attention back to what lay beyond the passenger window.

"Franny's my ex."


	4. The Mud

The Mud

To be completely honest with you, I said nothing after that. I asked him nothing. I don't think I even breathed the rest of that drive. Did that make me a bad person...? To not worry for the boy or try and find anything else out about this? Well. He was a stranger... Not only that, but he was a ruffian. A 'gang banger' or whatever they were called, by the looks of it. He had a gun and he reeked of trouble, of danger. How could I have ever thought him to smell like apples? He was the type of person that you would avoid looking at on the street... The kind you'd do you very best to ignore. A lost boy. If one were to look upon him, it would be from pure awe of his beauty. That odd pull of his eyes. I must admit, if it weren't for his scars and his crude tongue... I might've considered him of an upper class. Anyhow, when we finally reached Bonnefoy's property I can't even begin to explain the relief that coursed through my veins. Good riddance to a problem that was never mine.

"You're coming, princess." The teen spat, tone sour and demanding. You can only imagine my dismay at the thought of getting out my car. And my frustration at being called such a ridiculous name. "Do not call me a princess, you insufferable-!" I abruptly came to a stop, my skin paling. The boy had his hand in his jacket, and his body language was hint enough. He was packing heat. Oh, and I knew right then. I was leaving that car. Whether in a body bag, or with him. I was leaving it. I swallowed roughly. "I'll call you whatever the hell I want to call you, bitch! Get out." He snapped, his piercing blue eyes drilling holes into my own. I was blind from fright. Child or not, he could kill me. I suppose I'd forgotten that for moment. So, I had no choice in the end. I cut the engine then slid out the car, reluctance dulling my usually vivid eyes. The American followed suit.

The gates were already open and cars littered the area. Women and men lay about on the lawn, consuming alcohol or smoking fags. I scrunched my nose up at the intolerable stench contaminating the air. "It's barely after noon." I muttered, stepping over a giggling woman. Alfred glanced at me with a peculiar look, as if I were the odd one. He then shook his head and looked forward, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets. The smell didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. "You don't get out much, do ya princess?" I had the feeling it was more of a put down than a question. As if he wasn't truly curious at all about my life. I snapped at him, of course. "Would you stop calling me a bloody princess?! Unlike you, I'm not a damn fairy!" He quirked a single eyebrow at that, but the only thing he said... was, "Huh."

Huh.

_Huh!_

What ever little concern or pity I had felt for him went right out the window at hearing that. Disgust and spite filled be to the brim. The blasted fool had actually presumed me to be... Well. It didn't matter. What mattered was getting the whole ordeal over with. The sooner I got him out of my hair, the better. I was a good few hours late to work as it was... But I still intended to go. I needed every penny. His expression was somewhere along the lines of... 'You could've fooled me'. It was irritating, to be honest. I said nothing after that. I wasn't about to get into a fight with a man with a gun over my sexuality. Thoughts of lovely subtle blue eyes and the taste of freshly baked treats calmed me. Reminded me what I was living for.

When we reached the front door, the crude American merely opened it. No knock, no doorbell ring. He simply waltzed right in, as if he owned the place. What did I know though? Maybe he did. I followed behind, face splotched red from previous anger and lips pursed in a tight line. Alfred clicked his tongue in distaste at the scene before us. As if he were above senseless grinding and drunken make out sessions. For the briefest moments, I couldn't help but wonder. _Who is he to judge? _Weren't all fairies rather... Promiscuous... Anyway? I didn't know. I wasn't one myself. He slipped through the crowd and I unfortunately had to maneuver through it as well. I was small, but he seemed to be oddly faster. By the time I caught up to him, I was panting from the exercise of trying to catch up.

Alfred looked at me with what might've been considered irritation. Probably at my slowness. I didn't see why he had any reason to be. I didn't see the purpose of me coming along either, but I wasn't about to test his resolve with shooting an innocent man. "You sure you're not a chick?" He muttered, grabbing at my elbow and yanking me down an empty hall. I could feel the warmth from his fingers through the fabric of my shirt; it was unsettling. I squirmed away then began walking on my own, reluctant to let the boy touch me. "Please don't insult me." I said sharply, putting some distance between us. Alfred snickered, but said nothing else. We walked in silence. Him leading, me fuming. I had no idea where we were going... But he seemed to, and that was good enough.

We walked a while longer, until finally we reached a door. He didn't knock there either. He would've kicked the door in, if I hadn't been there to simply use the doorknob. Bloody barbarian. What I saw flicked the switch to my curiosity on. I was sure to pull it back down. I couldn't allow myself to get any more involved than I already was. "...Ah... Please... More..." A soft pleading voice came, skin much paler than Alfred's exposed to the stuffy air. A boy... Alfred? No, no... He must've been a twin, because they looked almost identical. If it weren't for his complexion and dead lavender eyes. There was a hideous red bruise on his cheek, and from a life of 'running into walls' I knew what that meant. All he wore were boxers... Leaving his sins clear on his arms. I'd have them soon, too... But then... All I could do was stare. The boy was clinging to Francis on a lovely leather couch, begging for something... and by the looks of his twitching and scratching... I knew what.

"Mon Dieu... You are needy, non? It 'as only been an 'our..." The man soothed, though it was clear he was rather amused. Beside me, Alfred tensed. His eyes became a cold steel... And I wasn't sure if he was breathing. Perhaps this was my chance to escape. The favor was done. I could leave. However, by the time I took my first step back... Alfred had taken hold of my hair and shoved that pistol of his beneath my chin. I went still against his stiff body. Felt the way his heart slammed into my back. Despite his show of dominance and 'control', he was nervous. I knew that. I also knew... I didn't want to die because of his druggy brother and my acquaintance not giving me all the facts. Or any facts. "Franny. Baby. If you wanted to talk, you shoulda just called... Matthew, get over here." The boy hissed out. I couldn't help but wonder if Francis would play along with this type of thing. He was a snake with a pretty face. I doubted he'd play 'hostage swap'.

The duplicate of Alfred glanced at us for the briefest of moments. There was such a... lost, look to him. Like he couldn't recognize his brother through that haze of need. He scratched at his neck. It looked as if the skin was raw there from all his scratching. He then turned back to Francis, wrapping his legs around him and grinding and pulling and... Just... being a pitiful longing corpse. "...P... Please... Francis... Please..." He murmured. And I knew he'd give anything to have what Bonnefoy was so cruel to hide from him. I winced as the American took his anger out on my scalp, tightening his grip. "Oh, mon cheri... Please let monsieur Kirkland go... 'e 'as been so kind to me." The Frenchman chuckled a bit, paying no mind to the fidgeting boy in his lap. "Besides, I told Matthieu 'e could go..." He said, his plush lips pulling into a friendly smile. Somehow it just made the boy behind me shudder though.

"After you gave him that shit! I told you he was done! Just... Just stop_ using_ him!" He snarled out, my scalp screaming in agony at the sting. I swore he was going to pull out my hair... "Using 'im? All I did was give 'im a little bit of 'eaven... Come now, do you not miss it Alfred...?" He purred out. If he had cursed, it probably would've sounded like a lullaby. He threw down something on the floor, which the boy was quick to go after. Eyes wide and glimmering in relief. "Matthew! Shit, don't!" And like that, his entire persona crumbled. He was trembling violently at the sight of whatever was on the ground. It wasn't long before he released me and went after his brother. Whether to fight over that piece of 'heaven' or to stop him, I don't know. I ran like the room was on fire as soon as he let me go.

Bumping into bodies and pushing passed lovers, I fled. My scalp stinging and my body shaking. It wasn't my problem. It wasn't. I needed to get to work... Away from the insanity of the Bonnefoy manor. I don't want to know what else went on in that room. I'd seen enough. Knew too much. Hoped my debt to the man was paid. And it was. Until I slipped up with opening that payment... I'm getting a head of myself. Anyhow, I had been running until a hand reached out and yanked at my elbow. I gasped, being pulled into a body that smelled of liquor and sweat... And faintly... Churros? "...Oi, eyebrows. Wait. Fran wanted me to pay you... Stop squirming." He muttered, his breath coming out hot and rank. He let go of my elbow then slipped his hand down to my arse. I gritted my teeth, about ready to swing wildly... Until I realized what he was doing. There was something he had put in my back pocket. Something I assumed to be cash. "Enjoy, amigo." He slurred, patting it a few times for his own amusement.

"What... What is it?" I murmured, slapping his hand away and putting the appropriate distance between us. The man laughed, the skin around his eyes crinkling. His breath was foul... And with the way he was jittering with energy... I knew he wasn't a bloke I could trust. So why did Fran? "...Mexican mud, man..." When I furrowed my brow at him, he just laughed harder and waved me off... As if the details were unimportant. At first glance, one would assume him to be Mexican, I suppose... But the brown tan of his skin and the thickness of his accent made it quite clear of what he was. Spanish. "The good shit baby. Heh. You should share with me... Haven't had it in so long..." He trailed off, his eyes glinting with that need... That need that too many people around Bonnefoy's place had. Perhaps they were all broke...? Or I could've been imagining it. I told myself that a good few times as I shook my head and backed away from him.

I then left. I believe I tripped over a few bodies on my way out... But said people didn't seemed to mind that. I scrambled for my car, the heat and stink of the party behind me. I just wanted to leave... Yes. I believe that's what I wanted. I slipped away into the safety of my car, locking the doors then resting my head against the steering wheel. The package still in my back pocket. The favor was over. Whatever went on... Was no longer my problem. Francis had given me yet another 'gift' and I was wary to see what it was. I could use the cash... If it was that. I had missed a whole day after all... I shook my head at the thought, but still it lingered. I sat there for a good several minutes, collecting myself. I then put the key in the ignition and turned it, waiting for that old groan I was accustom to. It coughed and spat nothing but smoke the first few tries, but hey... What could you expect from and old rust bucket like that? Eventually it started and I believe... I left. When I say 'I believe', it's because I'm not particularly sure... The even afterwards left somewhat of a gap and I'm still piecing it together.

Traffic had been horrid. I remember the usual road rage and the honking of horns. I remember the cabs and being annoyed with children that couldn't get across the street properly. I remember being fidgety and uncomfortable, my scalp only faintly throbbing... I remember... Driving home. Yes. I had decided against going to the office. I just wasn't in the mood anymore. And surely, if it was money, there was no need. Even though I swore the first time three thousand for Katyusha was all I needed... Didn't I deserve something more? I had dealt with that loon Alfred F. Jones. I had gone up to Francis Bonnefoy's mansion and had to deal with having a gun pointed at me. Surely, _surely, _I deserved... Just a little payment? I could give the rest to my love, if she needed it. I saw nothing wrong with just paying my bills. Who would? I had undone my tie then had a single glass of wine to calm my nerves. I didn't handle alcohol well, you see. I still don't. So one glass was all I ever had. I then headed off to my room to unwind.

Never mind a shower or a quick meal... I was tired. It had been a long... Long, day. Between teenage gangsters and sweaty Spaniards... I was quite worn. I aged before my time, you see. It didn't matter that I was in my twenties. I always felt like I was in my late forties. I rested on my bed, looking up at the ceiling in thought. My crappy ceiling fan making whiney screeches of noise. Why it did that, I didn't know. Another bonus to having my lowly job, I suppose. The package was still in my back pocket... Untouched. I kept repeating over and over again in my head 'I don't need this'. Whatever 'this' was. Francis could keep his dirty money. Could keep his psychotic ex-lovers and their brother's. Could keep his disgustingly charming smile to himself. I had a stable job and stable income, even if it wasn't much. Opening this payment... It would be stupid. If I did that... What chance did I have of rejecting it?

I had lay there for some time, letting the light buzz from the wine calm me. I then sat up and ran my finger through my unkempt hair, grimacing at the smell of sweat on me. "...Ah... Well. I suppose I should take a peek, hm?" I said to myself, the fan responding with a tired whirl. "...Alright then." I stood then patted my back pocket. Feeling it there. I sighed softly. Hesitating. Reluctant to slip it out. I did, though. And whatever it was... I knew right then, it wasn't money. Bringing it from behind me... I stared down at the little bag. Crumpled and suspicious looking. Brown and oddly harboring no smell. I shifted the small lunch bag from one hand to the other. Playing the guessing game. As if I were a child at Christmas Eve. Shaking presents and predicting what they would be. But this... I couldn't... Pinpoint it. No smell... No true form. Maybe the drunkard who'd given it to me was just off his rocker? He didn't look too trustworthy in all honesty. I sighed then shrugged my shoulders, unrolling the top then slipping my hand into it. I pulled out a light baggy, full of some type of powder... And though I was still rather confused... The name that stranger had given me still slipped from my tongue.

"Mexican mud...?"

**A/N: Sorry if there are any mistakes... I wrote this at like, four in the morning. You see, I had the idea in my head... But it takes forever for my ideas to come together... And they aren't too pretty when I rush... ^^; Ack... I sure took my sweet time eh? Well. I apologize for the delay and I will start pushing for a chapter a week. I also apologize for my ridiculously long notes... Pfft. I just like to talk. Review please~! And I hope you enjoyed the chapter... I swear to fix it up in the evening tomorrow... When I don't feel dead tired... *jitters from caffeine intake* Eheh... So yeah. Enjoy and what not. Next chapter will be pretty short, but after that it'll go back to being somewhat medium in size. **


	5. A Thief

A Thief 

_It hurt. _

_Her words. _

_His hands. _

_Mistakemistakemistakemistake-_

My eyes snapped open as I sat up, drenched in my own sweat. The hiss of the fan made me dizzy. Bile rose in my throat as tears stung my eyes. I found myself... Retching. All over my sheets. All over myself. God, and what a mess I was making. Those awful words still rung in my ears. In that oh so disgusting slurred tone, accented and cruel. And hands. I still _felt _them. Calloused and unforgiving. Along with my heaving and sobbing, there was a thunderous knocking that seemed to shake my home. The fan screeched and I cried and the knocking continue and... Oh. My head. You can't imagine the stress my nightmares had on me back then. Now? Now I don't dream. Don't sleep. Too hopped up on... Well. Back to the story. Now.. Do not assume I was on anything at that point in time. In all truth, I didn't even know how to smoke it. I had merely gone to bed after discovering what it was, unsure of what to do with it.

"Blimey..." I gasped out between heaves. I would appear a wreck if I went to open that door then. I knew that. And so, I willed the knocking to stop with my mind. And for a moment... It did. The noise just stopped. Everything. Even that blasted fan and it's insufferable hiss. It was a second of just phenomenal bliss and silence. And then everything came back full force. I took a shaky breath as I wiped at my leaking eyes. I knew there was no point in curling up into the fetal position among my vomit and the tangled sheets. So, with a strangled grunt I gathered my snapping nerves and stood. "Calm down." I murmured soothingly, my voice coming out in a type of scratchy croak. The knocking had grown ever more insistent, and so... I made my way out of my room and to the front door. The ominous looking bag of 'mud' left to sitting on my dresser.

"Kirkland residence." I murmured in a hoarse voice unlike my own. On the porch stood a rather tall gent, and I had to squint and really focus to see. The far off flickering streetlights weren't of much help, you see. And then of course... It was a new moon. After a moment of adjusting to the lighting, I could make out plump lips... That horribly familiar scarred flesh... And those captivating- No, intimidating, blue eyes. I did my best not to purposely inhale that deceiving aroma that draped over the boy like a blanket of sweetness. Apple trees. "You look like utter shit. Move." That's the first thing he said to me. Of course. The impolite yank. I would've called the cops right then, if I weren't so shaken up. And so... He shoved passed me and inside my home. Heading right for the kitchen. Lord knows how he knew where it was. Or where my home was in general, for that matter.

I shut the door with my shaking hands, reeking of fear and vomit. I then made my way into the kitchen, where the lights had been switched on. I was momentarily blinded by it, but that was alright. Wasn't like I wanted to see the mess the teen was making. I could hear cabinets opening and closing. Dishes clattering and drawers being pulled open rashly. He had been searching for something. "..You just gonna stand there staring, or are you going to offer me something to fuckin' eat? Man... Or at least something to drink?" I could hear the desperation underneath all that almost causal sounding irritation. I didn't care to point it out, though. I didn't care to know what the boy was doing inside my home at... One something in the morning. I had work later. I had responsibilities. I had... I had to meet Katyusha that day! I didn't have time for that problem. It wasn't mine. I didn't ask for it.

"What do you want...? Does Mr. Bonnefoy want something? Why... How did you...? I don't... I don't..." I trailed off, feeling tears prick my eyes. It wasn't a good time for me, in the middle of the night. I was weak and tired. Drained from my nightmares and my day's work of getting the brat off my back. And here he was again. Like a stench that refused to go away. "Nah. I'm here 'cause I need something bro." And that was the moment I looked at him. I mean _really _looked at him. His lips were not plump. They were, in fact, swollen. That tan skin of his? It was puffy and purpling in some areas. He had said I looked like 'utter shit'. Well. What did that say about him? His left eye twitched when he noticed me noticing. I did my best not to cry out when he grabbed at my hair, bringing me closer. Forcing me to meet his eye. Up close, I could see the new jagged slahes joining the jigsaw puzzle of his face. If the situation were different, this could've been considered an intimate moment. But it wasn't different... And I'd prefer being harassed like this over that ever happening. So... I of course, began to uselessly struggle.

"Like what ya see, princess?" He snarled out. As if it were my fault. As if everything that ever happened to him was my doing. Like I orchestrated it all. I must say, nothing is as refreshing as being covered in your own throw up as a male, bloody _younger _than you, is ripping out your hair. I'd known him for a day... And already, I couldn't think of a single human being in the whole city of London I hated more. Well, maybe Francis Bonnefoy. But he didn't truly count. Everyone hated him. The boy was twitching, his accent getting thick with some type of southern twang. He was... jittery. Oddly enough... "Mattie... My Mattie. Ya know, he's got way worse than this.. Way worse. And you... You-!" The teen was cut off by a knocking that was perhaps... Even louder, than that of Alfred F. Jones. He visibly tensed. His eyes were... Distant. Dare I say.. Wistful?

The teen gazed at the door as I stopped in my squirming. His grip loosened for the briefest of moments. He then tightened it instantly, causing a guttural noise of pain to leave me. "Answer the door. God, and stop looking like such a pussy. I ain't done nothin' to you." I did my best to ignore how snug the word 'yet' would be in that sentence as he released my hair. I then proceeded to scurrying off for the door, rubbing at my stinging scalp. The boy really did have quite the grip. Upon opening the door, I found myself looking at a chest. I had to look up to meet the somber lavender eyes of the man standing there. The stranger wore a smile that was as delightful as my 'guest's' presence. Each lock of his platinum hair was in place. Perfectly so. Ah... And his features... I... It was like seeing double, for I'd seen that facial structure before. Seen that hooked nose and those short lashes. And his lips... Everything screamed her name. My love's name. And so... The instant fear I felt was only natural.

"Hello. I apologize for bothering you at this time of night... But my boss has sent me. You took something from a Spanish man, da? Green eyes? Brown hair? He was... How you say..." The man trailed off, struggling for the proper English term. "...Never mind it. Anyhow... He was not supposed to give you that. I am here to retrieve it. Please, fetch it for me." Fetch. As if I were a dog. I suppose I might've argued, if I weren't so off at the time. What had I done to deserve the man on my doorstep showing himself to me? Ivan. Did he know how many times I had fooled about with his sister under the shade of some majestic tree? I swallowed thickly. "...Your boss, I'm guessing, is the Frog?" He blinked a few times at the name, as if never having heard such a thing. He then gave me a nod, his smile becoming more and more strained the longer he stood outside.

Reluctantly, I moved out of the way. Perhaps Alfred was intimidating, if not flat out frightening. But he was not Ivan. And Ivan, I knew from stories told to me by Katyusha, was not one to hold back. He didn't smell like apples, and there was not a layer to him. He was cold and collected. With an empty smile to top it off. I doubted he cared about anyone but his siblings. And even that, I was not certain about. "Ah... So where is it? The... bag?" He was not a user. It was something one could tell right off the bat. I didn't know what he was to Francis, if not a customer. He had said 'boss', but... Well. I didn't want to know, actually. I didn't want to know why Alfred F. Jones was in my home, looking like a used rag doll. I didn't want to know what Katyusha's little brother was to Francis Bonnefoy. I certainly didn't want to know why 'the Spanish man' had given me drugs if he wasn't supposed to. I just wanted to take a shower then sleep on the couch. Get all of these people out of my life before I was stuck. Like the woman at the motel. Like the people on the street. Like Alfred himself. They were all perpetually stuck. I didn't want any part of that.

"On my dresser... I'll... I'll get it." I murmured, not bothering to take note on the odd silence coming from the kitchen. Where had that silence been when I was hurling? Where had that silence been when I was sobbing? Probably in Alfred's mind. The boy probably didn't have anything but dust up there. Barbaric twat. "Hm... Alright. Please allow me to accompany you. Also... There seemed to be a ruckus before I got here... What was it?" If the man wasn't taller than me... If he wasn't obviously powerful... If he wasn't the brother to a woman I loved... If, if, if. I lost my point at the third reason of why I couldn't blow off such a question. It was more of a demand anyway, in the smooth and icy way he had put it. Ivan should've been in politics. I suppose bashing in skulls of people without payment for drugs suited him better, though. "...A... Guest, I suppose..." I said in reply, beginning to lead the way down the hall.

The other was quiet for a while longer as we neared my room. It was a short walk, I assure you. My apartment was the equivalent of... Mr. Bonnefoy's guest room. "..What was the guest's name?" He inquired, peering into my room. I'd need to wash everything. Or burn it all. "Alfred..." I trailed off, my eyes fixing on the window. Wide open and letting a draft in. I broke out into goose bumps. Ivan merely cocked his head to the side, unaffected by the chill of night. My room was a bit of a mess, but it was not the mess that I had made previously that drew my attention. After all, the only thing I ever left out was bills and my work shoes. The place looked as if someone had turned it neatly upside down. If that makes sense. Like... You could tell it had been searched, but it wasn't so untidy that one could pick something missing out.

"...Jones." I finished, sure to keep the F out in a type of defiance. Because that boy? He was certainly no hero. Not even to his twin brother... Who apparently preferred sticking himself with needles over being saved by his own god damn flesh and blood. Not that I knew how that went down, but even now... I assume Matthew got his intake of drugs and settled for blowing.. 'comforting' his dear supplier. Ivan glanced at me, the corner of his lip twitching. He took a slightly sharp breath, and his hands shook for the briefest of milliseconds. I will never forget him saying, "...The merchandise is probably gone, then." It was not the words that struck me. Not really. It was... The way he appeared. The way his somber eyes had the oddest flickers of need. _Need. _I couldn't comprehend why such an emotion would be there at the mention of Alfred. Couldn't comprehend why his smile got so limp. Couldn't comprehend why... He stared at me so strangely. As if I... Were a pig being sent off to slaughter.

I suppose I should've asked him questions. 'Do you know him'? Or, 'why are you so upset', or... 'I'm in love with your sister. Do you mind that'? Yes, well... 'could've, should've, would've' and all that. It didn't really matter, though. I'd be seeing a lot more of him. I tore my eyes away from his, getting uncomfortable from the way he looked at me. Through me. And that was when my eyes landed on the dresser. It was by far, the neatest thing in the room. Everything was in place. Just as it should be. I hardly noticed anything was wrong with it. Until it came to my attention that... The little ominous bag of mud? It wasn't anywhere in sight. "...The hell?" I don't know why I was so surprised. Probably because I had left him in the kitchen just a minute ago. I flinched upon feeling a hand on my shoulder. The tall sod chuckled, though there wasn't a hint of amusement to it.

"...My boss... He is generous man. Do not worry."

**A/N: UGH. I'm sorry if this one is a little... I dunno... Cliché? Arg. I hate stories like that. Plus I took forever. And it's kind of hurried. I did this like, at twelve in the morning with a sudden burst of inspiration... But it's kind of all over the place. Plus Artie is a little bit of a sissy in this chap. I don't like making him that way.. But it makes everything run smoother. Bah. Shoot me if you wish. I deserve it for such crap. And Ivan... I worry I got his character a little wrong... I just like to think of him as nice but not nice, ya know? Hm. Well. Hope you enjoyed. I swear the next chapter will come faster. I'm just caught up in finals and crappy crapola... I promise to edit this as soon as I can. -Fool**


	6. Debt

Debt

I'll spare you the irrelevant details about my shower and the cleaning I had to do after Ivan left me to my thoughts. He had this expression when he did, too. This expression that was so awfully familiar. It was a longing... Absolute need. Now that I think back to it, why it was so familiar was obvious. Katyusha always wore that look when she was whisked away into the night in some beat down cab. But that look the Russian wore? It was not for me. Obviously. Who it was for... I didn't care to know, though it was as clear as day. Believe me, there are many times in this story that I 'don't care to know' anything. So... You'll be happy to hear I did go to work for that day. It was, unfortunately, one of the last days I went.

"Arthur..." My eyes snapped up briefly from my lukewarm coffee to see my co-worker. He was the only person I could ever imagine confiding in. He was my closest mate, sadly enough. I say sadly because the feeling wasn't often considered to be mutual between the two of us. He had a way about him that made it difficult to read what he was actually thinking. Like right then, with him staring at me so intently. With those soulless brown eyes that seemed to suffocate me in something similar to quick sand, it was impossible to truly catch his meaning. He sported a fresh purpling bruise on the left side of his face. I wondered, briefly, how hard he fell. Because that was as much as anyone was told on an average day. If the man was feeling particularly close to me, which was rare, he might spill a word or two about his failures as a younger brother (oh, how I knew the tale). But this was an average day, and so, like everyone else... All I knew was that he had a hard fall. 'Clumsy goose' is what the greying female secretaries foolish enough to believe his excuses called him.

"I have a favor to ask of you." More favors... He didn't seem to notice my reluctant grimace. "My brother is needing a ride later next week and I am unable to do this for him since I have my classes scheduled around the time he needs me... It is not too far, I assure you." I groaned before taking a long swig of my bitter coffee. He had so many brothers.. "Which one, Kiku?" I questioned as I set my Styrofoam cup down. The man tensed for a moment. He then furrowed his brow. "...I do not see why it matters, but my eldest. Yao." Ah, how the name just made me shudder with disgust. It was another one of those things I really didn't see any reason to get involved in. Even before Francis Bonnefoy offered me that blank check... I turned a blind eye to the bloke's problems. I suppose I was not innocent... But deliberately ignorant. And even when the information was presented to me, I just... Chose to look the other way. Rarely did helping someone in trouble end well, in reality. Such a perspective was not mine alone... In the lovely city of London.

"Kiku. I don't think I should..." I trailed off, his chilled gaze settling me into a silence. "This man has raised me from adolescence. He still allows me to stay with him, despite my inability to pay bills... Discipline is only natural as long as I continue to make mistakes." I cringed at the familiarity. I didn't dare point out how similar his words matched that of a victim of abuse in a marital situation... Or any situation, really. "I realize this is an inconvenience for you, and so I swear to pay you back as best I can. I am just pleading you take him to where he needs to go... You are the only one at the office that I..." Trust? Need? Those weren't words I wanted to hear, but it would be nice if that's how he were going to finish. "...That I believe won't insult him with intrusive questions."

Ah. Like why his little brother showed up to work bruised and sometimes didn't show at all? The marks rivaled that of what I saw on the jigsaw puzzle I know... Knew, as Alfred F. Jones. Oh... Hell. Why am I thinking of him? Forgive me. Sometimes it just slips. What's important is that Kiku was asking me a favor. One of which I would regret later on... But then... The rest of that year, I would be regretting a lot of favors. "...Where does he need to be driven?" The Asian brightened for the briefest of moments. He then told me, "The clock tower, next Friday. Thank you." And left me to my thoughts. Through the rest of that day I turned the idea of helping Kiku over in my mind. Looked at it every which way. Near the end of my shift... I had convinced myself that driving the man's brother would actually be a good deed. It would prevent the formation of a fresher mark... It would prevent a string of 'I fell's.

After work, rather than going to have a drink with my co-workers like I usually did I headed for my car. I'm sorry if it seems like I'm rushing a bit... But I don't see why you'd want details about the crescent moon that appeared to be clinging to the darkened sky in silent desperation of being noticed or the whistling wind warning me of a chilly night. I slipped into my rust bucket and turned the ignition, briefly catching sight of a scene. My dearest mate was holding his eye, looking up at a man that looked as if he were about to implode. Oh, and how I wanted to phone the authorities.. If he had in fact inflicted yet another mark upon the smaller man. But.. I'm ashamed to say I pulled out of the parking lot and pushed it out of my mind. Because I hadn't really... _Seen _the lad get hit. And it wasn't up to me to call the police unless he appeared to be in true danger... Right? It's what I told myself, anyway.

On my drive, I tried to ease my mind. Next Friday felt oddly closer than it had before I'd been asked that favor. It was not unreasonable for Kiku to have asked me to do that. I mean, we were... 'Friends', though I had to use the word loosely sometimes. If one were to ask the Asian he might just say we were good acquaintances. He was so socially awkward.. And cold. Well, not cold.. More like.. Distant. And I couldn't blame him. There were hardly any trustworthy blokes around London. His own brother was making him resemble a chew toy that had been thrown to the dogs far too many times. Upon reaching the lovely little park I had planned on visiting my sweet at, I cut the engine and exited the vehicle. I then adjusted my tie and quickly slipped into that suave, confident.. Arthur Kirkland. I don't know why I did that... She just made me feel as if everything were alright.

I was not five minutes into my search around the park when I felt arms around my waist and heard soft bubbly giggles by my ear. I think my stomach knotted in ten different knots then. Can't say for sure; counting stomach knots isn't exactly a skill of mine. "Why hello there Mr. Kirkland~ Care to dance?" She hummed pleasantly, breath coming out warm against my ear. It took me a moment to recover and respond. "Of course, my dear lady." I murmured before slipping away from her grasp then taking her hands in mine. I've never been a great dancer... Two left feet, you know. And so Katyusha always got a kick out of teasing me if we danced. She'd always say something like 'maybe I should lead when we dance at our wedding'. I'd flush in embarrassment then laugh and brush her off. It wouldn't be such a bad idea... Her leading. And maybe she would. Will. It's a shrug worthy thought.

We danced in an awkward twirl, her giggling madly.. Me trying not to trip over my own feet. It was actually sort of nice. Alas, I eventually did trip. Over air. Don't ask how. As stated before, dancing and I never did go hand in hand. We fell in a less than graceful tangle of limbs. With me on my back, and her on top of me... I believe I was seeing several different stars. Pain. Aching need in my nether regions. Flustered amusement. "Oh, Mr. Kirkland, you're absolutely magnificent on your feet!" She mocked with a small laugh, light and sweet. Angelic really, to my willing ears. "And you, my dear, might catch my disease this close. You know... The talentless one?" I said in reply, laughing along with her. Happy. That's the only word there was to describe those moments between us. And as vulgar as our bodies position may have appeared, all I could focus on was her smile. So it shouldn't surprise you, Father, that it was exactly then I heard the most perfect of chuckles. Smooth and charming, with the faintest hints of something sinister. Perhaps it was all fate. Perhaps I was meant to be under his thumb. Perhaps I was meant to be a soulless husk. That would clear up some things, like- why me?

"Mon ami, I was not aware you knew Miss Braginskaya." Rather than looking up in confusion or stammering out an explanation, I quickly untangled my limbs from hers and stood. She soon followed suit, cheeks an adorable shade of pink. She seemed... Confused, in all honesty. I would've taken note of it if I weren't so busy studying the French amphibian standing before us. He had his usual ridiculous cape... And I could smell his stifling cologne, despite him being a good distance away. "Oh, must you give me that expression whenever we meet? Why can you never smile at me? You will get wrinkles with such a look." He chuckled a bit then glided closer to us. I instinctively grabbed her hand. Which.. Was one of the most stupid of moves I could ever have pulled in front of the bloke. His lips tugged into this odd... Knowing.. Smile. A smile that would make a woman swoon. A smile that could make me hurl.

"...H-Hello, sir...?" The woman was digging her nails into my hand... And I let her. She had every right to be on edge around him. "Bonjour, dear. I am... A friend, to your brother.. 'E 'as been looking for you." He hummed pleasantly, and though there were many questions she appeared to be ready to utter.. He seemed to be nearly done speaking with her. As if it were a waste of his breath to explain just what he was doing there. "You 'ave made 'im so worried... The poor boy. 'E 'as been a wreck all day. Do go show 'im you are alright. Over there." He pointed to a path, and I wouldn't be surprised if he had chosen it at random. Despite tightening my grasp on her hand, as if to silently say 'stay', as if to silently say 'I need you', she quickly tugged it away and with a soft goodbye, she left me with the Frog to go in search for her younger brother... She always did put them before herself. Or even before me, really. I can't say I minded on a normal day... But right then, the feeling of abandonment was unbearably strong.

Watching my woman go with his bright blue eyes, I saw a bit of interest flicker in them. I could not place what it meant though.. And the only assumption that came to mind was lust. The feeling of disgust coupled with my waves of abandonment made me sick. I swallowed back bile. "...Ivan would kill you, if 'e were to 'ear about this, mon cheri." He said as he slipped a stray golden lock of hair behind his ear. There was no drawn out explanation for why he was there. There was no drawn out explanation for how he knew Katyusha and I were... Together. If this were all a television show, or maybe even a book, maybe the author would clear it up for me. Maybe there would be a strike of lightening to match my mood.. Alas, this was reality. And in reality, all you can do is make an 'educated guess' when you don't have an answer, as my teachers use to say.

"Are you going to blackmail me, Mr. Bonnefoy?" He seemed to find my blatant accusation funny... Because he laughed. It was delicate and gentle, much like his expression. Perhaps he was blessed with such beautiful traits because of how horrid his twisted insides were. "I see no reason to. Besides, I could never ruin young love... It would not be right." Yet it was perfectly alright to pimp damn near children out on the streets. "But I am glad our paths crossed... I want to 'ave a discussion about... My _merchandise_." He moved closer with that last punctuated word. Close enough for me to visibly stiffen and turn quite a few shades of green. "Do not look so ill, Arthur." He reached out to touch my cheek, and it was no surprise to him that I slapped his graceful fingers away before such contact could be made. "It's Mr. Kirkland, to you... And don't touch me. Your 'merchandise' is with..." Yank, barbarian, street trash, jigsaw, gangster, trouble maker... The list of names goes on and on.

"...The boy. It's with him. I have nothing to do with it." At this, he merely gave me that odd little smile that I was quickly getting use to. "...I do not know that, monsieur." I was going to open my mouth to argue... But it quickly came to me just what he was getting at. My mouth felt dry and my heart hammered against my chest painfully hard. "...I'm not lying, and you know it! Do I look like a...? Your assistant... Mate... Whatever, he was there! He saw..." I trailed off, fidgeting in place as the man stood there. Looking taller and taller. "Petit Ivy told me that you merely did not 'ave the bag. Nothing else." He did not clarify on what the lad was to him, but I had the vaguest of ideas considering the Russian's lack of money and apparent strength. But the relationship between the two wasn't important. What was important was the fact that Francis was pushing the idea of me lying... And there being quite a sum of 'merchandise' gone without a single bit of profit towards him.

"Clearly I didn't... I wouldn't..." He clicked his tongue in something of distaste then shook his finger at me. As if I were a naughty child, caught with my hand in the cookie jar. Though we both knew that wasn't the case. "I understand it is mainly the Spaniard's fault... But.. That does not excuse you. That was over three grams. Now, I will not insult you by assuming you do not 'ave the money to pay me back... So I expect to be paid in full. I would 'ate to bring.. My men... Into this." He didn't want my money. Not with the way his eyes brightened and briefly appraised me.. Like a new toy on the shelf just within his reach. But I had standards. Rules. Beliefs. I swallowed thickly, uncomfortable. "...I... How... How much is...?" Though I didn't finish, he seemed to know what I was trying to ask right off the bat. "Roughly a thousand or so." A thousand. Or so. I nearly choked on pure oxygen. I had bills below that price, and I could hardly pay those. How was I going to pay that? Over a small bag of 'mud' that I hadn't used to begin with?

Noting my perplexed expression, I'd like to say his eyes softened a bit. I'd like to say he gave me a break and stopped with the games. But no. That's not what he did. In fact, he seemed even more pleased than usual. Because it was such an accomplishment to have me backed up in a corner. "If it is too much trouble for you there are other ways. I 'ave a shortage of.. Workers." I took a step away from him as he spoke, knowing I'd need more than one drink for the night. I then turned on my heels, trying to suppress the urge to shake. "...No thank you, Frog. I have a job." I wondered briefly what his face looked like at that. Probably doubtful and amused. "Ah, très bien. Please 'ave it to me soon. We'll keep in touch~!" I walked as he called that out to me. My head was aching and I felt... Off. And as I made my way to the rusted Bentley in the parking lot, I began to think about different jobs. Different ways to go about this..

And when exactly... 'soon' was.

**A/N: I... Did it! XD Finally. Dude.. This took bazillions of years... Probably lost quite a few readers like that.. Pfft. Lazy ass me. Ya know, I've noticed a few mistakes in most of the chapters.. Like, I keep saying money, or 'dollars'... Which I like to think is totally universal... But maybe I should be saying pounds instead? I should've set this in America to avoid all this confusion... Hm. Anyhow. I am back on the horse! And though I know this will probably be a pretty long story (I can't cram all of my ideas for this into one big chapter and say 'the end' ) I shall try and keep on it. And probably stop with the promises too, while I'm at it? I'm awful at keeping them as we all know... Eheh. Hope you enjoyed, though it was a bit rushed. -Fool **


End file.
